When She Cries
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Logan reflects on his vow to be there for Jubilee as she cries on his shoulder. FINISHED. Short, angsty. Please review if you liked it, thanks!


When She Cries

                It had been a pretty quiet night. I'd been playin' pool with the Cajun in the Rec Room fer hours, but I was bored now, an' I wanted somethin' else ta do.

                Ordinarily I'd'a gone out and started closin' down the local bars, but one look at the wind an' horizontal rain outside made me think twice 'bout goin' out on my bike. Wasn' much fun goin' out if all I did was git soaked ta the skin. I briefly thought 'bout goin' up an' askin' 'Ro ta clear up the rain fer a while, but the weather reports had said we needed the rain, and 'Ro was probably sittin' up in her attic meditatin' or somethin' like that. I didn't wanna disturb her solitude.

                Warren an' Bobby were down in the gym, punchin' the daylights outta the bag an' most likely talkin' 'bout their girls. Bobby'd started datin' a new girl las' week, an' he's so full o' her it's sickenin'. The Danger Room was off limits, too; Scott an' Jean'd usurped it so they could have their 'date' in Central Park without actually bein' in Central Park; and Jean'd threatened ta give whoever dared ta intrude migraines the rest o' the week. I wasn' 'bout ta intrude; I'd seen Bobby sufferin' through 'em the last time he'd intruded. The lovebirds had been in the Danger Room goin' at it when Bobby'd programmed a rainstorm. Jean and Scott had been partially nude at the time; Bobby hadn't been able ta get outta bed fer days.

                So okay. I wandered inta the Rec Room with a beer and flipped on the TV.  To my relief, there was at least somethin' good on tonight; there was a 'Halloween' movie marathon on one o' the premium channels. I grin as I get up. I know exactly who I wanna get ta watch this with me.

                Jubes has seemed a bit quiet today. It was hard ta tell, an' I'm sure no one else noticed, but I know her well enough ta know she ain't up ta her usual cheerful self. Maybe this'd help pick up her mood. She ain't a fan o' horror movies; they scare her. But she always watches 'em with me. I asked her once why she did; an' she blushed an' said that when the movie got ta the scary parts an' she curls up an' hides her face in my shoulder, it makes her feel safe. I didn't wanna admit ta her that I like bein' snuggled up to like that; but I guess she knew, 'cause she kept doin' it, an' I kept lettin' her.

                That was then; this is now. We ain't had one o' our horror movie nights since she came back from the dead—since the day we foun' her stretched out on a cross on Chuck's front lawn. I still feel a pain in my chest when I think o' that mornin'; I'd been crucified myself, long ago, by the Reavers. I remember the awful agony; and it was a miracle that she survived. She's still got the bandage on her wrists and feet; fer some reason they're takin' their damned friggin' sweet time ta heal.

                She's never said nothin' 'bout that day. When I look in her eyes, there's nothing there but pain and an acceptance o' it. There's no accusation in her eyes like there is in my heart. I accuse myself fer not bein' there fer her. Jus' like I wasn't there fer her when Bastion got her.

                I raise a hand ta tap on her door when I smell somethin' funny. Rain. In her room. I give the door the barest, token tap, and open the door.

                Her room's empty. There's a little notebook open on her bed, an' I hear soft music playin' from her radio, but she ain't in here. It looks like she got interrupted while she was writin'.

                I walk over ta her bed. She's shed her usual pink an' yellow colors for a somber charcoal gray comforter; her sheets are plain white. That tells me more 'bout her state o' mind recently than anythin' else.

                I reach out ta close the little notebook, an' stop when I glance down at the page. I shouldn't; it's an invasion o' her privacy, an' that's somthin' I don't usually do, but this is her diary. An' readin' it might give me some insight as ta what's goin' on in her head lately.

                _Pain. It's not something I'm a stranger to. Hell, we're none of us strangers to it. We've all been hurt at some point or another in our time as X-Men. It kind of goes with the job, as the saying goes. I've had my share of it._

_                But I never really knew what pain was until Bastion got me. In that cell, being beaten and tortured and raped, I learned what true pain was. There were times when I really wanted to die; when I would have welcomed it. I would have gladly slit my wrists just to escape the pain and misery of it all, if I could have gotten free for just a moment to cut them. But of course I never got the chance._

_                And I thought it was over. I never figured I'd feel pain that bad again. And then there was THAT night. I'll never forget the horrible agony as the spikes went through my wrists and then my feet. I wanted to die. I figured if I hung there, and didn't try to raise myself to get air into my lungs, I could die quicker, and it would end._

_                My body betrayed me. I still had energy left, I didn't know where from; but I found myself pushing up on the spikes in my feet to get breath.  Then I let myself fall again, determined not to rise again for that next breath. But the need to breathe couldn't be denied for long, and I found myself rising again._

_                I could feel the spikes in my wrists rubbing between my wrist bones. And I realized why it took Logan so long to heal in Australia so long ago. It's not just the puncture wounds, though those are bad enough. It's the pain, the feeling of spikes grating on the nerves in my arms, chafing the surfaces of my bones, that delay the healing process. The nerves don't forget pain that acute. Even now, sitting here weeks later, whenever I turn my wrist a particular way, I can feel the pain again. It's a ghost pain, psychosomatic, as Hank told me when I asked him…but he gave me pills for it nevertheless. And they don't help. It's all in my mind. But it's still there. I can't eat; the way I hold a fork turns my wrists 'that' way, and it hurts. I'm losing weight; I stepped on the bathroom scale and it said I've lost ten pounds. For me, that's something. I can't afford to lose any more weight; I'm so afraid Wolvie's going to try and hug me , and he'll feel my ribs and he'll get that look on his face. So I've tried to keep my distance. I try and pretend nothing's wrong, because I don't want anyone to know how weak I am. _

_                Little Jubilee, the one they could always count on for a cheerful smile and a laugh, can't even manage a laugh now. I'm such a weakling. I can't handle the pain, and I can't even cheer myself up. Logan knows, I think; there's this odd look in his eyes when he looks at me, like he wants to say something and he's not sure how I'm going to take it. I've been avoiding him. He knows me better than anyone else here; he knows I'm not quite myself. _

_                I don't want him to know how much I'm hurting. I don't want him to know how much I just want to snuggle into his lap and cry on his shoulder the way I used to. When I first came back to the mansion after Operation Zero Tolerance had ended I tried so hard to make everyone see I'd grown up. I wanted Logan to see I wasn't a kid anymore, that I'd grown up and I was a woman. I didn't want him to think I still wanted his comfort like I used to._

_                But now I find I do. I need it now more than anything else I've ever needed in my life. I need him to hug me, to comfort me like he used to and tell me it will all be okay. But if I ask him to hug me, he might take that as a sign that I'm not fully grown up, and he'll stop looking at me the way he did before…before THAT night. I love him. I wonder if he loves me. I think there's an attraction there…but I don't know if it's just my imagination…_

I carefully lay the diary on the bed in the exact same position I foun' it in. So that's what's wrong. Jubilee doesn't want us ta think she's weak; so she's keepin' her pain an' anguish all inside, where it'll eventually destroy her. I can't allow that ta happen. Maybe if we settle down an' watch the movie together, we can regain enough of our closeness so I can talk ta her.

                The room is distinctly chilly from the open window. I wonder what has possessed her ta leave the window open. I go to it, pullin' the curtains open ta reach the window sash and close it.

                Somethin' out there catches my eye, an' I stick his head out the window. Barely three feet away, Jubilee's sittin' on the flat roof over Warren's balcony, dressed only in a thin white cotton nightgown that's soaked through by the rain. Wind whips through her hair, an' the scent o' cold October rain mingles with her tears. She's huggin' her knees ta her chest, sobbin' onta her folded arms, an' the transparent soaked white cotton plastered to her back defines every rib and vertebra lump on her back. It's a shock ta realize just how much weight she's lost, and I feel my eyes fill with tears of anguish. She's hurtin' this badly, an' yet she's tryin' ta keep it all ta herself, so as not ta distress any o' the rest o' us.

                Noninterference be damned. I ain't 'bout ta let Jubes die cause o' her own stubbornness. An' one more gust o' wind like that an' she really will die, blown off and hurled onta the ground below. I grab the comforter on her bed an' open the window more, climbin' out myself.

                The wind really is fierce. I see Jubes' thin body rock a little with the force. Before she can fall, I come up behind her, throw her comforter around her shoulders, and call into her ear, "Jubes. Come inside!"

                She ignores me, but I feel her sobs suddenly redouble in force. She's heard me. She just doesn't wanna accept the comfort I'm offerin' her. I change my tone. "Jubes. Please. Come in, 'fore ya fall offa here an' make me mourn ya."

                She ignores me, though she's trembling so hard I feel like I'm gonna be knocked offa the roof myself. "Jubes. I love ya, please don't make me mourn ya. Come in, before ya fall offa this roof!"

                She says nothin', but her body suddenly wilts over ta the side and her cold little hands clutch at my shirt. I take that as permission, an' I scoop her up. Gettin' her back through the window is a bit trickier, but eventually I get her through. She collapses on the floor, cryin', as I ease myself back through the window an' close it, then I drop to my knees beside her and take her chilled, wet body in my arms. Her skin is cold an' she's soaked ta the skin, but she ignores it all an' clings ta me like a drownin' man clings ta a life preserver. As I sit there holding her sobbing body in my arms and stroke her wet hair, I hear the song the radio's playin'.

_The road I have traveled long_

_Is paved with good intentions_

_It's littered with broken dreams_

_That never quite came true._

_When all of my hopes were dying, _

_Her love kept me trying;_

_She does her best to hide_

_The pain that she's been through._

I think I may've heard the song before, but somehow it hits me with more force now that it ever has. Jubes has always been there fer me. From the very beginnin', when I was crucified by the Reavers, she's been with me whenever I needed help, a smile, a laugh, an' someone ta cheer me up. When Magneto sucked the adamantium outta me, I nearly gave up. But she stayed by my bedside all through those hellish days when I let my feral side take over 'cause I couldn't face the civilized world, an' her presence kept me goin', kept me tryin' ta heal my shattered body and mind.

_When she cries at night_

_And she doesn't think that I can hear her_

_She tries to hide_

_All the fear she feels inside_

_So I pray this time_

_I can be the man that she deserves _

_'Cause I die a little each time_

_When she cries._

                An' it's true. Jubes doesn't know I can hear her, but many's the night I spent sittin' in the hall outside her door listenin' ta her cry in bed alone inta her pillow. An' it tears me up inside ta hear it. I heard her cry like that after Operation Zero Tolerance, an' I swore then ta myself I'd never let anyone hurt my Jubes again. Then came the mornin' we found her crucified on the lawn, an' I felt my heart hit my heels, 'cause I'd broken my vow an' failed her again.

_She's always been there for me_

_Whenever I've fallen_

_When nobody else believes me_

_She'll be there by my side._

_I don't know how she takes it_

_Just once I'd like to make it_

_Then there'll be tears of joy_

_That fill her loving eyes._

                Twice now I've broken my personal vow ta be there when she needs me, an' not been there when she needed me the most. An' she's never gotten angry with me. She's always accepted the pain an' borne it as best she could, an' never once has she ever said ta me 'Why weren't you there?' A little part o' me's waitin' fer her ta say that ta me, 'cause it's a question I ask myself every time I see that haunted look in her eyes. It would hurt. Hearin' her accuse me would hurt…but not any worse than it is watchin' her go through each day strugglin' ta hold it all together. She's shed too many tears of pain…is there anything I can do to fill her eyes with tears of joy, and love, and laughter?

                I don't know…but I'm gonna try. Her sobbin's quieted, and I find that I've been strokin' her hair. She finally pushes against my arms, and sits up. "Look at me," she says with a soft laugh that has an edge of hysteria to it. "I'm getting you all wet."

                "Don't care," I tell her. "But yer gonna catch cold. Get some dry things put on while I go get changed too." I leave the room quietly.

                When I get back she's changed inta a pair o' soft blue cotton pajama pants an' matchin' tank top. Her collarbones stick out over the top o' the shirt, an' her shoulders look bony. She looks like a survivor of a concentration camp; an' I want ta cry fer her.

                Instead I go ta her, draping one o' my flannel shirts over her. She used ta take 'em from my laundry an' walk around wearin' 'em; and this one, a deep cranberry red, is her favorite. She brings the sleeve up ta her nose an' takes a deep sniff o' my scent, an' gives me a watery smile.

                "There's a 'Halloween' movie marathon playin' downstairs," I tell her. "Wanna watch?"

                She thinks for a moment. "Is that the Michael Myers thing?" I nod. She wrinkles her nose. "I don't know why I let you talk me into watching these things, Logan," she says, gettin' up offa the bed and shovin' her tiny feet inta her blue fuzzy slippers, the ones I bought her last Christmas. Gonna have ta get her another pair this Christmas; these are really worn at the heels.

                I lead her downstairs ta the Rec Room and install her on the couch. She protests all the way, but it's a token protest only. I can feel her reserve fadin' away, and I sense she suddenly wants ta be with me tonight.

                I go to the small kitchen area in the corner an' search the fridge. There's a box o' leftover pizza; an' it's pepperoni an' sausage, her favorite. I divide the pieces onto two separate plates an' stick 'em in the microwave. When they beep I take 'em out and put 'em on the low table in front o' the TV. She picks up a slice, bites inta it as the movie starts, and suddenly it all feels right again.

                An' I'm gonna keep it that way.

END

                 Thank you all for reading! If you liked it, please write a review for it. Thank you.

                This story is also posted at www.wolverineandjubilee.com, a wonderful website. If you are a Wolverine/Jubilee fan, it's a must-see.  This story is being posted here because I am entering it in the 2004 X-Day fanfic competition, in the 'Ficlets' category. If you liked it, please vote for it! Information can be found at www.xday.info. Thank you all!


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